What Happens Now?
by TheMusicMan1995
Summary: On his deathbed, Connor reflects on his life, sharing his thoughts on his time as an Assassin. Contains Connor/Aveline. Lengthy oneshot


Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.

Although the Creed of the Assassins is not quite as strict in these new lands as it is across the waters, the Old Man made sure I understood eveything about it. To say that nothing is true, is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile, subject to change at the hands of men with weak wills and selfish hearts. Therefore we, as the Assassins must hold fast to the freedoms of the people, defending them with our blades and our lives. To say that everything is permitted, is to realize that we are not bound by morality or law. The Assassins are the shepherds of their own actions, and must act as such, for if we did not, mankind would be nothing more than mere puppets to those who detest freedom. The Templars.

I have dedicated my life to the pursuit of freedom, to the cause of the Assassins, to the extermination of the Templar order. And yet I feel unsatisfied. I was barely eighteen when I first set foot on Achilles' doorstep. I must have been quite a sight, a young boy caked with dirt, asking this old hermit to train him. At the time, I did not know what it was I was seeking. Perhaps I still do not. All I knew was that the spirit, the one they call Juno, ordered me to seek out the symbol of the Assassins. I did not know why, only that perhaps it could save my people from the tyranny of the white man.

I was wrong, of course. But such is the folly of youth. Achilles once told me that there are no happy endings, and I had the audacity to spit back at him "_Not when men like you are left in charge_." Now that I am much older, I see the wisdom in the Old Man's words. I remember, though, one particular question that one of the Brotherhood asked me long ago, a question that decades later, I still have no answer to. They asked me "_Connor, what happens when- if... we win? If we finally stop the Templars? For good?_" I had no answer then, and I have no answer now. Or perhaps I do, an answer that Achilles gave me long ago, but I was too stubborn to accept it.

There are no happy endings. I don't believe this battle between the Assassins and Templars will ever cease. If you believe the stories, our two groups have existed in some way since before recorded history. If both have not only survived, but thrived for this long, all while trying to destroy each other, how could either possibly just fade away?

I can't help but laugh as I think of what I've gotten myself into. A struggle much larger than myself, than even to this day, I do not fully understand. From the moment I made my first real kill as an Assassin, questions and doubts have been swimming in the back of my head, only getting louder and more prevalent as the years have passed. William Johnson was his name. A shrewd Irish businessman who sought to purchase my people's land for the gain of the Templars. I still remember his last words as he lay bleeding at my feet.

* * *

_"Oh, no. What have you done?" The bloodied, dying man asks as I stand over him._

_Is it not obvious what I've done? I've saved my people, and my people's lands, from those who would exploit them for their own gain. William Jonhson is a Templar, and as such, he wishes only to control humanity. Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"I've ensured an end to your schemes. You sought to claim these lands for the Templars." I respond, trying to look stoic, as though I've just accomplished a mighty deed._

_In truth, Johnson's death does not bring me any sort of satisfaction or accomplishment. I feel only regret. Johnson looks so pitiful right now, lying nearly motionless, his face and garments stained with his own blood. I should not show any mercy, or feel any sympathy, however I cannot help but do so. Templar or not, Johnson is still a man who fought for what he believed in. Even if what he believed in was brainwashing all of humanity to ensure "peace." Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"Aye. That we might protect them."_

_Wait, what?_

_"Do you think that good King George lies awake at night, hoping that no harm comes to his native subjects? Or that the people of the city care one wit about them?"_

_I am confused, although I do my best not to show it._

_"Oh, sure. The colonists are happy to trade when they need food, or shelter, or a bit of extra padding for their armies. But when the walls of the city constrict, when there's crops that need soil. When there's... when there's no more enemy to fight... we'll see how kind the people are then."_

_Johnson's words make sense, but I hold fast to my principles. The Templars are well-known to have the tongues of snakes, and it is very likely that he is simply trying to play with my mind in his last moments. I will give him no such pleasure._

_"The colonists have no quarrel with the Iroquois." I respond confidently, as I kneel down beside him._

_"Not yet. But they will." he continues on. "'Tis the way of the world. In time, they'll turn. I could have stopped it. I... I could have saved you all."_

_I am beginning to lose my patience, refusing to believe that the Templars were fighting for some noble cause like the Assassins. It is simply not plausible to ensure peace by means of control. Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"You speak of salvation, but you were killing them." I say as I glare into the man's very soul._

_The one fact that William Johnson cannot dispute has come up at last. I am expecting him to be silent, to accept that perhaps he was wrong. I should not be so foolish however. The Templars are set in their ways, in a fashion not unlike the Assassins. But it does not matter. He is about to offer one final response, not that I will listen. It is just more Templar propaganda. Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"Aye. Because they would not listen. And so, it seems... neither will you."_

_Johnson's body is now empty of life. I have succeeded. I have saved my people from the tyranny of the Templars, and thus my mission is complete. However, I begin to feel some sort of doubt. Much of what Johnson said made perfect sense. What if he was telling the truth? What if the Templars were simply trying to keep my people and my land safe from the colonists? I quickly shut this thought out of my mind, convincing myself that it was lies, all of it. Johnson was a Templar, and as such, could not be trusted. Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"May the Faceless One grant you the peace you claimed to seek."_

* * *

I have ended the lives of many men like Johnson. Men who truly believed they were fighting for the greater good, while myself and the rest of the Assassins were simply fighting. Were they wrong? Was it truly all tricks with their tongues designed simply to get inside my head and make me doubt myself, and my Brotherhood? Or was it not all lies? Perhaps maybe it is the Assassins who are misguided. When we feel something threatens the freedom of mankind, we remove it. No questions asked. Are we perhaps too hasty? Are we simply fighting the Templars for no other reason than so we have someone to fight? I do not know the answer to my own questions. Perhaps I should stop asking them.

One would think that I would "get used" to taking lives. That I would harden myself to better resist the propaganda being spewed from the mouths of men who's lives were at their conclusion. Those people would be wrong. As time passed, my doubts, both in myself, and in the mission of the Assassins, grew louder and more prevalent inside my head. They did not deter me, but they were there, never hesitating to make their prescence known at the worst moments, such as when I relieved John Pitcairn of his existence...

* * *

_As Pitcairn lies bloody and bruised, I have to admire his skill in combat. The man is not a general for nothing. When my initial plan to assassinate him, from the air, went awry thanks to my recklessness and being spotted by several Redcoat soldiers, I had to fight my way past a horde of British troops in order to get to Pitcairn. I feel nothing but shame at this moment. In my haste to eliminate Pitcairn, and thus remove another Templar from the earth, I have taken the lives of several men who were more or less "innocent." I can only hope it is worth it in the end._

_"Why? Why did you do this?" Pitcairn coughs out through damaged ribs._

_"To protect Adams and Hancock and those they serve. You meant to kill them."_

_This is the entire reason for Pitcairn's march on Bunker Hill. He means to eliminate Sam Adams and John Hancock, and in turn remove two icons for the Revolution, obviously hoping to make the rebels think twice about opposing the Crown. But I have given him no such satisfaction, as I have ended his life before he ended theirs. He is a Templar, and seeks to use his influence as a general in the British military to control his subjects. Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"Kill them? Are you mad? I wanted only to parlay. There was so much to discuss..."_

_The doubt, the regret, and the shame have all barrelled back into my head in full force, making me feel like an idiot for acting so hastily. I do not show my emotions to Pitcairn, lest he take advantage of any sign of weakness he may see._

_"...to explain. But you've put an end to that now."_

_"If you speak true, then I will carry your last words to them." is the only response I can muster._

_What am I doing? If this man is telling the truth, that he only wanted to sit down and talk with Adams and Hancock, as well as their superiors, then I've just prevented this war from ending. Perhaps Achilles is right. Perhaps I am too reckless. And, perhaps I am wrong. I quickly subdue my feelings, reassuring myself that I am fighting for the greater good, for freedom, while Pitcairn and his Templar bretheren seek only control, and to further their own advances. Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"They must lay down their arms. They must stop this war." Pitcairn gasps out._

_"Why them and not the Redcoats?"_

_"Do you not think we asked the same question of the British? These things take time. And I would've succeeded, had you let me play my part."_

_I still refuse to allow myself to believe that I have been wrong. That the Templars themselves have noble goals in the best interests of the people. I know in my heart that the Templars will lie and decieve to get what they want, even on their deathbeds. Just like Achilles has taught me._

_"The part of the puppeteer!" I snap at him._

_"Better we hold the strings than another."_

_"No! The strings should be severed! All should be free!"_

_Pitcairn begins to chuckle. It is fairly obvious that my words have not even phased him, but the same cannot be said the other way around. In truth, I fear whatever words may leave his mouth next. The Old Man would be furious if he knew that I was questioning my own motives._

_"And we should live forever on castles in the sky." He says sarcastically. "You wield your blade like a man, but your mouth like a child. And many more will die because of you."_

_Pitcairn gasps out his last breath, before he finally rests, dead. I feel something break inside me. Not physically, but mentally. I am truly beginning to wonder the true nature of the Assassins. I must speak about this with Achilles later..._

_"It is better to have faith to something than none at all."_

* * *

That day truly marked the beginning of my mental decline. The doubts, the regrets, the shame never left me after Pitcairn died. I continued on, fighting under the Assassin banner, preaching freedom to every man I slew, only to have my words thrown right back in my face with what the Templars believed was their true goal. Peace. I remember when I first met my father, he tried to kill me. Commander Washington had asked me to search the forests surrounding Valley Forge for clues about supplies that had gone missing.

My search eventually led me to an old, abandoned church (Ironic, since my next Templar target was Benjamin **Church**, who Washington believed was responsible for the missing supplies). Any experience Assassin would have seen this trap coming from miles away. I, however, despite having the deaths of three major Templars under my belt, was anything but experienced. I strolled into the church nonchalontly, finding nothing but cobwebs and emptiness. Benjamin Church was long gone. It was then that I heard the unmistakable _shing _of a Hidden Blade. By the time I turned around, he was on me, pouncing from above, coming down hard and pinning me to the floor.

It was the second time I had ever seen my father in person. The first had been years earlier, when the Redcoats had opened fire on an innocent crowd in Boston, an event which had been dubbed _The Boston Massacre_. This whole event, however, had been orchestrated by the Templars in order to incite a rebellion. At the time, I was convinced that the Templars supported the British Crown, and this was their way of crushing any thoughts of revolution that may be in the colonists' heads. I know now that it was foolish for me to assume this, but, as I said, such is the folly of youth.

* * *

_"Hello, Connor. Any last words?"_

_The first words my father ever speaks to me, and it is clear he intends to end my life. I try desperately to avoid this._

_"Wait." is my only response_

_"A poor choice." He says as he readies his Blade._

_I desperately push him off of me. As I scramble to my feet, it is only now that I get a good look at my father. Haytham Kenway. Born to the Master Assassin Edward Kenway on British soil. Grand Master of the New England chapter of the Knights Templar. I am surprised at how much he looks like me, or rather, I look like him. His hair is a bit more gray than the last time I saw him, but he is still every bit as confident, as calculating, and as ruthless as a Grand Master should be. Hence why he is about to kill his own son, unless I can change his mind._

_"Come to check up on Church? Make sure he'd stolen enough for your British brothers?" I spit at him._

_At this point, I shouldn't be surprised by Haytham's response. He looks at me like I am the biggest fool on the face of the earth, before carefully choosing his words, no doubt hoping to cripple my confidence with every syllable._

_"Benjamin Church is no brother of mine. No more than the Redcoats or their idiot king."_

_Once more, it seems I have been misinformed. I suppose I should be used to this by now, but Haytham is not done._

_"I expected naivety, but this... The Templars do not fight for the Crown. We seek the same as you, boy. Freedom, justice, independence."_

_"But..." I say, struggling to find a rebuttal within my head._

_"Hmm? But what?"_

_My father is not the Grand Master for nothing. Where as Johnson, Pitcairn, and even Hickey appeared oblivious to my confusion and self-doubt, Haytham has seen right through me, and is not hesitating to turn my words against me. I must choose them carefully._

_"Johnson, Pitcairn, Hickey. They sought to steal land. To sack towns. To murder George Washington!"_

_He sighs. "Johnson sought to own the land that we might keep it safe. Pitcairn aimed to encourage diplomacy, which __**YOU **__cocked up thoroughly enough to start a goddamned war! And Hickey?"_

_I know my father senses my conviction crumbling to dust. I try to hold fast to my beliefs, but that is becoming more and more difficult, as my father's words cut deep into my core, undermining my confidence and making me regret every last decision I've ever made. But he is not done yet._

_"George Washington is a wretched leader. He's lost nearly every battle in which he's taken part. The man is racked with uncertainty and insecurity. Only look at Valley Forge to know my words are true. We're all better off without him."_

_I cannot help but allow a tiny bit of myself to believe Haytham's words. His conviction is impressive, his prescence is intimidating, and his confidence is admirable. I can see now why the Templars have lasted for so long with men like him at their head. But yet again, he is not done._

_"Look, much as I'd love to spar with you, Benjamin Church's mouth is as big as his ego. You clearly want the supplies he's stolen. I want him punished. Our interests are aligned."_

_Is he offering what I think he is? "What do you propose?" is my only response._

_He smiles. "A truce. Perhaps... perhaps some time together might do us good."_

_I am geniunely intrigued by his offer. Templar or not, Haytham is still my father, and together, we would truly be a force to be reckoned with._

_"You are my son, after all."_

* * *

I made a temporary truce with my father. I would have hated to admit this at the time, but, although it was an uneasy alliance at best, in which we both ridiculed and insuted each other's motives every turn; although it fell apart after Benjamin Church's death despite my best efforts to keep it going, it was nice. I was finally spending time with my father, a luxury I'd never before had. Until I was nineteen, the only image I'd ever had of him were from the brief stories my mother would share when I asked about him. All she had ever told me was that, although my father had good intentions, his methods of bringing his goals about made him dangerous, and she refused to have her son raised by a dangerous man.

I saw what she meant during my brief time with Haytham. He had a very simple view of the world. He believed human beings, by their very nature were imperfect, shallow, and two-faced. To this day, I do not argue with his claim. He is right. Humans are imperfect. My problem with his view, however, was that the Templars were, and are, human themselves. If these imperfect humans sought to rule humanity, the world would still be imperfect, despite the Templars' best efforts to keep it at "peace."

Much of our struggle still confuses me. During my time with Haytham, I was convince that the Assassins and the Templars wanted the same thing, although I did not use that exact wording when speaking to the Old Man about it. Achilles never hesitated to warn me that all the Templars, including my father, must die in order to ensure the freedom of the lands. I knew his words were true, and yet I was hesitant. I believed that perhaps I could reconcile with my father, that we could unite once again on a more permanent basis. I wanted it to happen, yet I should have know how foolish it was.

That day at Valley Forge shattered any faith I may have had in Haytham. I had sought him out in New York, in an attempt to continue our alliance towards whatever ends we may encounter. After interrogating British soldiers, and arguing for a good half hour when my father killed them, I met up with him at Valley Forge, Washington's cheif camp where he once again tried to deter me from the Assassin cause.

* * *

_"We should be sharing what we know with Lee, not Washington." My father says in annoyance._

_"You seem to think I favor him. But my enemy is a notion, not a nation. It is wrong to compel obedience, whether to the British Crown or the Templar Cross. And I hope in time the Loyalists will see this too, for they are also victims."_

_I am impressed with my own words. The short time I have spent with Haytham, oddly enough, has reinforced my conviction and my belief in my cause. Perhaps this is the effect he has on his peers. I would thank him, if I were not busy arguing with him. He rolls his eyes, no doubt preparing another rebuttal, but I am ready this time._

_"You oppose tyranny. Injustice. These are just symptoms. Their true cause is human weakness. Why do you think I keep on trying to show you the error of your way?" Haytham talks as though he is giving a very rehearsed speech._

_"You have __**said **__much, yes. But you have __**shown **__me nothing."_

_I walk away, satisfied. I have finally won one of these verbal battles against my father. A small victory, yes. But small victories add up. I walk up the hill to Washington's tent, and out of the corner of my ear, I hear Haytham mutter something to himself. I cannot quite make it out, but it sounds like, "We'll have to remedy that, won't we?"_

_We reach Washington's tent, and I greet him as I often do._

_"Sir."_

_"Hello, Connor. What brings you here?"_

_"The British have recalled their men in Philadelphia. They march for New York."_

_"Very well. I'll move our forces to Monmouth. If we can rout them, we'll have finally turned the tide."_

_A standard conversation between Washington and I. He is a humble man, clearly under much stress from the position he is in. It is in these moments that I do not understand why my father and his fellow Templars have targeted him. He is a fine leader, although perhaps not the best military strategist who ever lived. I notice Haytham snooping around in Washington's tent while I talk with the Commander. I am about to tell him to mind his own business..._

_"And what's this?" my father sounds delighted as he picks up a piece of paper from Washington's desk._

_"Private correspondence!" Washington says angrily as he reaches for the document._

_My father dodges Washington's charge, with a smile on his face the likes of which I'd never seen. It can only bode ill._

_"Of course it is. Would you like to know what it says, Connor?"_

_I remain silent, as it appears I do not have much choice in the matter._

_"It seems your good friend here has just ordered an attack on your village. Although, an attack might be putting it mildly. Tell him, Commander."_

_I look over at Washington, and, although my face remains emotionless, I know the sense of betrayal is shining through my eyes. Is my father telling the truth? Has Commander Washington sought to kill the very people I've sworn to protect? Washington is nervous now, that seemingly unshakable conviction crumbling to dust. A brief silence comes about, which gives me all the answers I need. I am ready to kill him here and now._

_"We've been recieving reports of allied natives working with the British. I've asked my men to put a stop to it."_

_"By burning their village and salting their land. Calling for their extermination, according to this letter."_

_I am furious. I am also devastated. I have helped this man repel countless British attacks. Without my help, this rebellion may have been crushed long ago. And he repays me by killing my people and pillaging my village._

_"Not the first time, either." My father speaks up again. "Tell him what you did fourteen years ago."_

_Fourteen years ago? Please, by the spirits, tell me he isn't talking about what I think he is. Fourteen years ago, my village was burned, my mother killed, supposedly at the hands of Charles Lee and his Templar bretheren. Have I been wrong this entire time? I look at Washington, clinging onto the foolish hope that my father is lying. But I know he is not._

_"That was another time. The Seven Years War." Washington is desperately trying to hold his own against my father, but to no avail._

_"And so now you see what happens to this 'great man' under duress." Haytham says, turning back to me. "He makes excuses, displaces blame, does a great many things, in fact. __**EXCEPT TAKE RESPONSIBILITY!**__"_

_My father and Washington are on the verge of coming to blows. At this point, I do not care what happens to either of them._

_"__**ENOUGH!**__" I exclaim. "Who did what and why must wait. My people come first."_

_Haytham smirks at Washington before speaking up again_

_"Then let's be off."_

_"No." I say to him. "You and I are finished."_

_Washington is not the only one who has betrayed me today. My father has kept the truth away from me for months, simply because it best served his own purpose to reveal it now. I am done with him._

_"Son..." he says, trying to weaken me._

_It does not work. "Do you think me so soft that by calling me 'son' I might change my mind? How long did you sit on this information? Or am I to believe you discovered it now?"_

_My father dons the same nervous look as Washington. For once, he has nothing to say. I continue to break him down._

_"My mother's blood may stain another's hands, but Charles Lee is no less a monster. And all he does, he does by __**YOUR **__command!"_

_Before I walk away, I add one final remark to both Haytham and Washington._

_"A warning to you both. Choose to follow me, or oppose me, and I will kill you."_

* * *

I was lying to them both, or to my father at least, although I did not know this at the time. At that moment, the only thing that mattered in my head was reaching my village, which was only a few miles away, and saving my people from Washington's troops. I was devastated to learn from our Clan Mother that Charles Lee had already been there. He had given my people muskets and other arms, so that they might defend themselves, but I knew he was leading them into a death trap.

If there is one thing I do not regret about my life as Assassin, it is the deaths of Charles Lee, Thomas Hickey, and Benjamin Church. They were all scum who did not deserve to have a place on this earth, Templar or not.

I had to kill my childhood best friend that night. I still remember how he jumped out of the bushes, his eyes filled with a dangerous bloodlust. He accused me of working with the rebels to drive our people west, or so Charles Lee had told him. I tried to defend myself, to convince him that Lee was a liar, but my friend was dead set in the belief that the white man had corrupted me, that I was a traitor. And as such, he wished to give me a traitor's death.

He had me pinned to the ground, his tomahawk inching closer and closer to my throat. I tried desperately to push him off, but to no avial. He was stronger than I was, and thus, having no alternate options, I flicked my wrist, revealing the Hidden Blade, and put the shard of metal through his own throat.

The memory of seeing my friend smile as his life left him will never leave me. He was so sure that with my people aiding the Crown, they would finally be free. Perhaps they were right. I will never know.

I became more reckless than ever. I knew Charles Lee had retreated to his quarters in Fort George, a military district in New York. Instead of careful planning, taking my time like a "proper Assassin," I convinced the admiral of the French Navy to lend me one of his fleets. I had the ships sail to the New York harbor flying British flags, then proceed to open fire on the Fort. With the guards distracted by cannon fire, I was to slip in, kill Lee, and get out by any means necessary.

I do not recall exactly what happened. Perhaps this is due to old age. All I remember is that while I was in Fort George, I ended up severely injured, and wished only to get out alive.

* * *

_I am in no condition to fight. I need to avoid the guards..._

_I inch my way through the enormous crack in the wall, each movement causing me great pain and discomfort. As I finally reach the outside, I begin to shout in frustration._

_"Where are you, Charles?!"_

_"Gone."_

_I should have expected him to be here. I turn around to face my father, but before I can ready myself, he meets me with a series of quick strikes to my head and chest. Each blow nearly brings tears out of me, but I, by some unknown miracle, hold them back. I subconciously drop to my knees, but before Haytham can capitalize, I launch my fist with all the strength I have left into his most intimate regions._

_We fight back and forth for a moment, before I somehow manage to out-maneuver him, getting him into a position where I am at his back, wrenching away at his wrist in a way that would have a lesser man screaming in agony. But Haytham is anything but a lesser man._

_"Come, now. You cannot hope to match me, Connor. With all your skills, you are still but a boy with so much left to learn."_

_He reverses my hold on him, but before he can do any further damage, I remove one of my Blades and plunge it into his arm. He yelps in pain, and stumbles back._

_"Give me Lee!" I scream at him._

_"Impossible." is Haytham's response. "He is a promise of a better future. The sheep need a shepherd."_

_"He has been dismissed and censured." I try to argue, holding back the urge to pass out. "He can do nothing for you now."_

_"A temporary setback." He says, finally getting his bearings. "He can be restored."_

_He draws his sword, and I have no choice now. I must fight, despite my condition. As he lunges at me, he continues his verbal assault._

_"You act as though you have some right to judge. You declare me and mine wrong for the world, yet everything I've shown you, everything I've said and done should clearly demonstrate otherwise."_

_I pay no attention to his outbursts, choosing instead to put all of my focus into keeping up with him physically. It it almost impossible._

_"We did not harm your people! We did not support the Crown! Under our rule, all would be equal! Do the Patriots promise the same?"_

_He has me backed into against a wall now, and, seeing no other way to stay alive, I grab an empty whiskey bottle sitting on a nearby windowsill, and smash it into his face. Before he can retaliate, though, a cannon ball finds its way onto our battleground, knocking me unconcious for a few brief moments._

_I am lying on the ground, in more pain than I could possibly imagine. I know Haytham must be injured as well, so I opt for one last plea._

_"Surrender, and I will spare you."_

_I am surprised by own words, but I believe them whole-heartedly. Despite who my father is, despite everything we've done to each other, I am still willing to forgive and forget, to start over._

_"Brave words, from a man about to die."_

_It seems Haytham has other plans. I try to move, to no avail, and before I know it, he is on top of me, his hands around my throat. He has not applied any pressure yet, so I decide to keep reasoning with him._

_"You fare no better."_

_He pays no attention to my words, instead choosing now to tighten his grip, cutting off the air to my lungs._

_"Even when your kind appears to triumph, still we rise again. And do you know why? It's because the Order is born of a realization. We require no Creed, no indoctrination by desperate old men. All we need, is that the world be as it is. This is why the Templars will never be destroyed. This is why we remain!"_

_I cannot breathe. I cannot think. All I can do is feel. I feel my father's hands around my throat, ready to smother me to death. I feel the darkness closing in on me, blurring my eyesight. And most of all, I feel regret for what I am about to do. I flick my wrist, and I desperately slice Haytham's throat with my Hidden Blade._

_He yelps in pain, releasing his grip on me, before stumbling to his feet. He looks at me as though I am the devil himself, and I stuggle to return to my feet_

_"Don't think I've any intention of caressing your cheek and saying I was wrong. I will not weep and wonder what might have been. I'm sure you understand."_

_I do understand. My relationship with my father was doomed from the start. We simply live in two different worlds. Worlds different enough to transcend blood. I understand what he says. but I cannot help wishing things had turned out differently. He drops to his knees._

_"Still, I'm proud of you, in a way. You've shown great conviction. Strength. Courage. All noble qualities."_

_He takes one last look at me, a look I've seen fathers who were proud of their sons don on their faces. For a moment, I feel good._

_"I should have killed you long ago."_

_Haytham Kenway falls on his face, finally dead. I'm sure he meant his final remark as a compliment. I feel a single tear run down my cheek as I walk away._

_"Goodbye, father."_

* * *

I suppose I should not dwell on the negative parts of my past. After all, I cannot truthfully say it has been all bad. Were it not for the Assassin Brotherhood, I would never have made the acquaintance of Aveline de Grandpre. The first time I had ever met her, I was tracking Benjamin Church in the forest, while she was in search of an Officer Davidson, who she believed would lead her to someone called the "Company Man," the Grand Master of the Templars in the Louisiana territory. We were ambushed by British soldiers and fought side by side for a brief moment. She was remarkable in battle, and, although I didn't want to admit it at the time, very attractive.

She remained in the back of my head for some time after that, although I didn't see her again until years later. After the assassination of Charles Lee, Achilles' tragic passing, and she being forced to kill her own stepmother, who had turned out to be the Company Man all along, I was surprised to find that she had returned to the homestead. She had explained that the Assassin order was now all but exctinct in Louisiana, and wished for my help to rebiuld it. We tried, although the death of Aveline's stepmother had allowed one of her underlings to ascend to the rank of Grand Master. This new Templar was far more ruthless than Madeline or Lee, and as such, Aveline and I failed in our efforts to rebuild the Assassin order there.

She stayed at the homestead with me after that, and we became quite close. We often went on missions together, playfully challenging each other with trivial contests regarding things like who could climb the tower of the Boston Town House faster, or who could lose the guards first. I don't know when exactly I realized I was in love with her, but I was delighted to find that she shared my feelings.

We married soon after that, and a few years later, she gave birth to two healthy twins. One boy, one girl. In our parents' honor, we named them Jeanne, after Aveline's mother, and Haytham. They are both incredibly gifted Assassins, and I am proud to be their father, just as I am proud to have found a woman like Aveline to share my life with.

As I pass from this world, however, it must be known that I have a few regrets...

Firstly, I can only hope that my elder Assassins, in whatever life may await me after this one, will forgive me for the countless times I have thrown our Creed aside and just killed, regardless of who was in front of me. I have taken the lives of countless innocent men who were only following orders, and for that, I am sorry.

Secondly, although I do not regret becoming an Assassin in the least, I regret much of the choices I made in my youth. For the first decade and a half that I was part of the Brotherhood, I fought believing that I was keeping my people safe from the tyranny of the white man. I know now that I was foolish to believe this. The colonies have birthed into the United States of America, a land which promises freedom, independece, liberty, and justice for all, yet they have no problem driving my people from the land they lived upon long before the colonists even knew this land existed. In the birth of this new nation, I lost everything and gained nothing.

Finally, however, I wish I had made a greater effort to try and come to terms with my father. Haytham Kenway tried to kill me, yes, but he was still my father, and I still felt that with Charles Lee out of the way, there was still a chance for reconciliation. I suppose I will never know now.

All I can hope for is that my father, wherever he is, is still proud of me


End file.
